THRUST into the media spotlight by the Mercury Prize judging panel, Isobel Campbell is in no mood to rest on her laurels for a time, instead issuing her second full album this calendar year.

And this time thereés no Mark Lanegan.

When appearing solo earlier this year at the Night and Day Café, she appeared to miss his weighty presence. Not so this time.

Ballad of the Broken Seas is all but her own work, letés not forget, Lanegan contributing only his gruff voice and a solitary composition. She can cope without a man about the house.

And for cope, read prosper. Milkwhite Sheets is a fine, fine record, comfortable eclipsing the recent efforts of her old band Belle and Sebastian (she sure got out at the right time).

Its thirteen tracks comprise a mixture of trad covers and Campbell originals, which are not easily distinguished. Delicate instrumentals bunk up with wistful folk songs. Long forgotten characters are resurrected, new ones created.

Flourish

Campbellés slight voice is afforded room to flourish (all the room it could possibly hope for on the a cappella Loving Hannah) by a spartan backing, often comprising a lone acoustic guitar, joined or not by harmonica, harp and the very gentlest of percussion.

Her tones are both ethereal and eerie, their latter characteristic being accentuated by looping picked and strummed refrains, ghost-thin flute and unsettling cello. What initially appears sweet gradually reveals a darker quality.

An obvious reference point is Emiliana Torrini, the Icelandic siren whose evocative Fishermanés Woman album was (one of) the record(s) of last year.

No less affecting, no less enchanting, Milkwhite Sheets merits being recognised as prolific Miss Campbellés more superb offering of this year, for all its lack of trumpeting.